


Game, Set, Match

by Isola_Caramella



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tennis, Awkward Boners, Blink and there's smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, JABJune, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-15 14:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/pseuds/Isola_Caramella
Summary: There is a time jump here, I figure a month is good.





	1. Chapter 1

“You do need to master the fundamental strokes. Work at improving as many different types of strokes as possible, and your game will be more versatile, powerful and effective. You did great today Tommen, I'll see you next week.”

“Thanks coach Brienne, have fun on your trip.” Tommen beamed as he ran off the courts to the showers, the light from the Tarthian sun glinting off his glasses.

Jaime watched Brienne behind his aviators as she bent to pick up the passel of balls Tommen had hit over the net. The hem of her white skirt flirted with her muscular thighs and he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers across her skin but Brienne was unnervingly professional. Six months of private lessons and she still referred to him as Mr. Lannister each time he picked Tommen up, a tight no nonsense stretching of her lips that likely qualified as a smile.

“Ms. Tarth.”

“Mr. Lannister, how are you?” Brienne intoned, straightening up to her impressive height.

“Better than I should be; how are you?”

“Well, thank you. I'll be away this week. If you'll have Tommen practice a few drills while I'm gone, it will help him to remain focused. Nothing strenuous, he can practice at home or you may bring him here.”

“What should he do?”

“Just have him practice bouncing the balls repeatedly to continue getting comfortable with the feel of the ball on his racket and also his grip for his forehand strokes.”

Jaime knew he deserved a special place in each of the Seven Hells for thinking of Brienne's large hand gripping his balls instead of focusing on how to help his son but he couldn't muster up enough disgust with himself. He wondered if her blue eyes would look at his cock as earnestly as they did her racket and tennis balls. If she would be as aloof when he smashed a ground stroke…

“Mr. Lannister, are you listening?”

“Yes, of course, I'll have him work on it.”

“Thank you, I can take that for you.”

“Take what?”

“The ball in your pocket.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Coach Brienne!”

Tommen was hurtling towards her faster than Brienne could dissuade him from hugging her; his chubby arms circling her stomach tightly. She enjoyed working with most of the younger children but could admit she liked Tommen, he was never going to be a great tennis player but she hoped that he would be a great person. He tried harder than he needed to and was the kind of sweet that would get him picked on in school. She'd been called teacher’s pet more times than she could count.

“I told you she'd be here dad!” Tommen yelled out over his shoulder, “I bought you flowers.”

Brienne wasn't sure what she'd expected but the bouquet of every blue flower Tarth had to offer was not it. The morning glories mixed with summer blues and Blue Astapori lilies made her smile despite herself; they were the sort of thing an earnest boy would buy.

“These are for you, my son drove the florist to the madhouse trying to match your eyes.” Mr. Lannister's voice danced along each of her nerve endings as he handed over the flowers, he was the sort of man to grace a Tobho Mott catalogue or a Myrish runway. He wasn't as openly hostile or belittling as some of the newer citizens of Tarth but he had a current of jerkish tendencies floating on the surface, enough to remind her to bring their surprise visit to an end.

“Thank you Tommen, this was kind of you. I appreciate it very much.”

“You're welcome! Can you eat pizza? I picked pizza but daddy says you could be training and can't eat pizza which is stupid, pizza is great.”

“If you didn't follow that bit of verbal diarrhea, my son is eager to take you to lunch. He has your date all planned out. “

Brienne tried unsuccessfully to decline the invitation, her excuse arsenal was slim and her inability to lie convincingly had her seated in one of the beachside restaurants eating grilled fish. Mr. Lannister hadn't even given her a chance to change out of her practice gear and the skirt rode up as she tried not to stick to the chair. He'd managed to steal another ball from the court before they'd left and Brienne wondered if he was a kleptomaniac.

A few of the fisherman stopped to ask about her father and when she was going to start playing again, disappointed when she said she had no plans for the coming season. Brienne had no plans for any season but kept that to herself.

Brienne excused herself to call her father and caught Mr. Lannister staring at her legs in the window.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaime grabbed the base of his cock, glad for once that the old manor house was so spacious, and thought of Brienne. He'd rarely had to take matters into his own hands before, but today, today he'd dropped Tommen off early to find her playing against a dark haired Braavosi man and the grunts had killed him. Each whack of the ball over the net had elicited a grunt deep from her belly and Jaime had wanted nothing more than to drag her off the court into the nearest room with a lock.

The grunts had been compelling enough, he'd cancelled his meeting with the interior decorator immediately, but then Brienne had run to the baseline to defend a point and fell into a full split effortlessly. Long legs splayed perfectly across the court as her white skirt lifted to show off her toned ass and Jaime had given up all hope of ever getting a good nights sleep. He had expected brute power from such a large body but the grace had been most welcomed.

Now he thought of her spread beneath him, long legs wrapped around his waist as he practiced his own version of the perfect stroke. The faster his wrist worked, the louder the grunts in his mind became and Jaime was lost in an ocean of blue as his balls tightened and released volcanically. He waited for his breathing to calm down before padding to the bathroom to clean himself, the wild-eyed, disheveled wretch in the mirror a far cry from his daily appearance.

Jaime knew he was a patient man, but he needed something, anything to calm the constant hum that Brienne had started in his blood.


	4. Chapter 4

Brienne felt foolish staring down at the small remote control willing it to turn on by itself, willing herself not to be such a coward. The instructions had promised discreet pleasure and silence and she could only hope the little pamphlet was accurate. She took a deep breath to relax her frayed nerves, it was her own careless fault for crossing the professional divide. She'd let one lunch turn into lunches and some breakfasts and finally dinner tonight. It was easier to keep distance when they had been in the restaurants she'd haunted since before she could walk, she could devote most of her words to Tommen and whatever was left to the people who had watched her grow up.

Tommen’s father, Jaime as he insisted she call him away from the tennis center, liked to talk and Brienne was grateful to listen and nod. He was nicer once you made it through the asshole armor he had built up but he was far too beautiful. The combined effect of his sharp humor and good looks wreaked havoc in public. In the privacy of his garden tonight, as they watched Tommen chase his new kittens, it was like being burned to death by a dragon. Brienne could still feel his hand on her back as he walked her to her car. His voice pitched low to not carry to the garden as he thanked Brienne for coming over to help cheer Tommen up. His ex-wife's parole had been denied again and she refused to let Tommen see her in prison. She'd nodded, of course she understood what it did to a child to be without their mother, but his voice had set off a spark in her core that refused to go away.

The spark had turned into a full fledged fire when he'd leaned in to kiss her goodnight, a whisper of a kiss against her scarred cheek that was friendly. A nothing kiss that had made her want for the first time since she'd harbored the crush on Renly. Handsome, dead Renly that couldn't hold a candle to a very much alive Jaime Lannister. Brienne hit the on button and set the vibrator on its lowest level, grateful it still worked after sitting under a heap of shoes for over a year.

Brienne adjusted the settings until she found the right thrusting speed; hoping her voice didn't carry to the apartment next door. The pamphlet had described the increased pleasure with dual stimulation and as her body contorted she cursed herself for throwing the party favor into the forgotten heap. As sweat trickled down her forehead, the phone startled her into dropping the remote on the floor, hitting the green answer button before realizing she hadn't hit the off switch.

“He-ell-lo?”

“Hi Brienne, it's Jaime, sorry to call so late but you left your wallet.”

“Ohhh, ok-k.” His voice was making her stomach swoop and her body clenched around the little toy even harder. Brienne wanted to die, her breathing was coming faster and she couldn't find the remote to turn the thrice-damned toy off.

“Is everything okay?”

“Ye-e-e-e-esss…I, bye.”

Brienne dropped the phone back into the mattress as her back arched off the bed, groaning into the pillow next to her head as her body trembled, squeezing the abused pillow until she could turn on the light and hunt for the remote. Realizing belatedly that she'd never hung up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a time jump here, I figure a month is good.


	5. Chapter 5

Blushing had never been a turn on for Jaime, nothing outside of his ex had been a turn on, but the scarlet red decorating Brienne's face as he pressed the wallet into her sweating hand excited him. He should have hung up the phone, it was the right thing to do, he'd ask for for forgiveness on his deathbed. She'd managed to avoid him at drop off but couldn't pull the same feat at pick up, today was Tommen’s late lesson and she was almost on her own, the other coaches too busy with their own students.

“Thank you for bringing my wallet.” She couldn't look him in the eye, the mask of professionalism cracked to hell. He took base pleasure in her discomfort after he'd spent half the night wanting to kill whoever made her sound like a wild lioness and the other half wishing he could have hit the record button.

“You're very welcome, it was my pleasure. I've been thinking about taking lessons, it's been years since I've played, my groundstroke isn’t where it used to be. Not enough power to pivot back and hit the right spots properly.”

“Stop that,” she gasped at him, stepping closer to prevent a passerby from overhearing, “I know what you heard, just please don't okay, I know every joke already. You weren't meant to hear that, I couldn't find the remote.”

“Remote?”

“Oh gods, I dropped the, your call startled me, it fell under the bed, you should have turned off your phone.” She mumbled into the space between them, biting her bottom lip as she looked away.

“I don't understand.”

“Gods, it was a, it's none of your business, just please drop it.”

Understanding hit him like cold water on a hot day, he wouldn't have to murder anyone, unless batteries counted as people. He smiled his blindingly deceptive smile at her, all teeth and false sincerity.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“What? I, what, I'm training with Syrio. Why?”

“I'd like to have you for dinner.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Brienne was blushing, felt the heat suffusing her face and tried to think of the dolphins she'd seen on the drive over, or coach Syrio’s lilting Braavosi accent as he admonished her form, all to no avail.

Dinner was another low key get together in Jaime's garden, this time without Tommen, who had finally made a few friends at school and was spending the night at a birthday sleepover. Brienne had been happy for him, remembering the crushing ache she'd felt after every slight at his age. It had, however, sent her imagination back into overtime when she realized he would be away, all night.

Jaime was simply goading her when he'd said he wanted to have _her_ for dinner, realistically she could pick up on the double meaning, she was used to the taunts aimed meaninglessly at her. Other, less used, places had not read the memo about ugly women not getting to third base, especially with beautiful men, and still harbored other ideas about what was supposed to transpire.

Her brain was up to speed as she nodded unenthusiastically at wherever he was saying now, frustration and want waging war under her skirt. Even looking in the mirror and reminding herself that Jaime had married a reigning beauty queen (Miss Westerlands, Miss Westeros and Miss Universe, all in a row) before she'd made it out of a training bra had not stopped her body's reaction to him. She'd left her new best friend on the charger before making the trip to Morne and torturing herself.

“Am I that boring?”

“No, just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing and everything.”

“What's everything?”

“The detective that was handling the car crash called this morning and there'll be an official announcement tomorrow that they've arrested the driver who pushed my car off of the road. I don't feel as vindicated as I thought I would, Renly is dead and I haven't played in a tournament since the accident. People are going to continue to blame me for his death just to have something to be angry about." Brienne thought of Renly's boyfriend Loras and sighed into her wine.

“Will you play now?”

“Maybe, I like coaching, and I like not being scrutinized even better.” Hiding out had immense benefits and Brienne enjoyed each of them.

“But?”

“Renly and I were one open away from having the Grand Slam. We were going to be world number ones together. Braavos was our last stop. I want to win that for him. I'm not even ranked anymore, I'd have to play all year just to have a chance.” And she could get away from Jaime and her ill advised desires.

“I can understand that. That's everything, what's the nothing?”

“Are you a kleptomaniac?”

Jaime looked at her in surprise, not offended but completely bewildered. His green eyes narrowed at her as he put his fork down, rubbing his beard as he contemplated her question.

“Not that I'm aware of, my ex-wife was the criminal Brienne, not me.” Hurt flirted with his eyes before retreating someplace far away.

Brienne prayed for a black hole to magically appear and suck her into another dimension, she babbled when she was nervous and her nerves were shot to all seven hells.

  
“That was a stupid question. It's just you always take the balls from the court.”

“Come again?” Now he was leaning into the table, a look she couldn't quite place settling over his face.

“When you pick Tommen up, sometimes you leave with a ball in your pocket.”

His laughter was like a thunderstorm, loud, booming and a bit terrifying. Jaime doubled over in his chair holding onto his sides as he wheezed out her name over and over.

“Oh Brienne, that wasn't a tennis ball.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jaime sat in the middle of his bed going over neglected files and fund statements, the words crossing and getting muddled as he tried to concentrate. He trusted Tyrion as the CEO of their hedge fund and didn't care about any of this crap, but Tyrion insisted on sending it. Brienne's red face came back to him and he gave up on work again. Jaime smiled as he tugged at his beard, kleptomaniac, honestly. Between the two of them she was the thief.

 _The King Without Courage_ woke Jaime from his unexpected sleep and he stared at the phone, taking a moment to figure who had changed his ringtone. Brienne's name flashed on the screen and he hit answer.

“Do I get an encore of the last performance?”

“Wha…? No, I, gods. You said to call when I made it home. I'm home. Goodnight.” Brienne spluttered. If he closed his eyes he could see the blush spread across the bridge of freckles along her broken nose.

“I tell my brother that all the time and he's yet to even send a text.”

“Well, I said I would and I have. Goodnight Jaime.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Clothes.”

“You're no fun.”

“So I've been told.” Brienne sighed into the phone, “wh-what are you wearing?”

Jaime bit his lip to keep from laughing, sending the video chat request before he thought better of it, waiting until the pale face took up his screen, a look teetering between mortification and something else crossing Brienne's features before she settled into her blank coach visage.

“Very little.”

He watched her blue eyes go wide, averting them from her phone, though he doubted she could see little more than his chest.

“I'm submitting a wild card entry for the Aegon International Dragonstone, coach Syrio thinks I have a good chance of getting it. There are two positions but he says the publicity of me coming back is on my side.”

“You'll get it,” Jaime promised, knowing he'd call in a favor to ensure that she played. “I'll let you see the ball in my pocket when you win.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild, mild angst in this chapter.

"We see Jaime Lannister, ex-husband of Cersei Kettleblack, sitting in the player’s box for Brienne Tarth next to her father. The two are at opposite ends of the cheering spectrum Petyr. Jaime rarely reacts to a point, while Selwyn has always been a box favorite with his antics. It's nice to see the Teddy Bear of Tarth back in the stands. Truly one of the best tennis dads, no competition.”

“Yes Melisandre, always good to have Selwyn here. It's been over two years since the accident but the way Brienne is defending this set against young Jeyne Poole, it's like she never left. Oh watch watch! This is going to be an ace, I can feel it, no one does this…ace to close the set! Brienne Tarth 7-5, 6-1…”

Brienne watched the highlight reel on WSPN alone in her hotel room, trying to look for her weak moments. Replaying each unforced error, each break in her serve, how she gave up the location of her shot before she served. She was going to need to get back into professional form, she needed a new hitting partner, and her father insisted she get an agent and a publicist to handle the renewed interest in her. She wanted to prove herself and avenge Renly, this was just the beginning and she couldn't afford to lose. Dealing with the press was the very last thing she wanted.

 

 

Tommen’s Dad  
  
**Today** 9:05 PM  
Where are you?  
  
In my room.  
  
What room are you in?  
  
630, why?  
  
You're not the only one who can keep a promise.  
  
That wasn't a promise.  
  
If you say so. I'll see you soon Brienne.  
  
You're not serious.  
  
  
Jaime?  
  
  
Jaime??

It did no good to call his phone, each call going straight to voicemail without even ringing. Anxiety flared in her chest as she thought of the bet at Bitterbridge Tennis Academy and the loathsome Dean Tarly. She was no longer sixteen but had effectively learned to not trust men who expressed even the slightest interest in her. Nothing good had ever come of her foolish desires. Gods, she was going to have a panic attack, she could feel it, her heart had already started galloping and her left hand was starting to tingle. Her father had spent so many dragons on equine therapy for her anxiety and she couldn't conjure up a single self affirmation to stop the dread.

Brienne thought about holding a racquet and practiced swinging back and forth until her heart slowed to a normal pace, wiping away the sweat from her hands and face. She was in her own room and no cameras were strategically placed to capture her humiliation if for some reason Jaime Lannister decided to unleash his inner, callow sixteen year old self.

The brief knock brought her back to the present, almost twenty minutes after he'd gone radio silent. The Mother spared her no mercy as she took in the thin green shirt and grey sweatpants, that showed there were no hidden tennis balls lurking anywhere.

“ _Fuck me_.” Jaime murmured almost too low for her to hear. His eyes raked up her legs as Brienne remembered she'd forgotten to change out of her yoga shorts and bra.


	9. Chapter 9

Jaime felt five years of carefully constructed and hard won patience and thinking before choosing to act fall through the gates of hell as he eyed Brienne’s legs. The small white shorts covering just enough to be decent but not enough not to make him reach for her. After the divorce he'd learned to measure consequences and control his anger, always thinking of Tommen’s fragile state of mind instead of his own burning, all consuming anger.

It wasn't anger that consumed him as he advanced on Brienne and shut the door. The surprised whimper as his tongue assaulted her mouth wrapped around his cock like a fist. He felt alive again, some of the old pre-cuckolded devil may care, fuck responsibility Jaime. Her mouth was warm and faltered under his, he thought of wrapping one long leg around his hip and sinking into her, discarding the need quickly. Choosing the safer route and cradling her face in his hands, stroking the freckles across her cheekbones and angling her face to deepen the kiss.

His cock sat between them with the subtlety of a brick tossed throw a window, aching, twitching and incessant the more she moaned. Jaime let one hand run up her back, finding the almost nonexistent yoga bra only had a few crisscrossing straps keeping it up. Brienne's hands were still held firmly at her sides, one finger barely touching his thigh, making Jaime pull back and look in her eyes. Her wide lips were red and swollen, parted slightly as she panted.

“Hi.” He purred, knowing the effect he could have on women.

“Hi?”

“Hello?”

Nervous laughter spilled from her generous mouth, an undercurrent of something other than arousal tempering his own excitement.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it me? Not so great being pawed at by an old lion?”

Brienne laughed at that, a real laugh that bubbled up and made her cover her mouth.

“You're not old, my dad could be your dad and his current sweetling is barely, hanging on by a fingernail at the edge of a cliff barely, older than me. It's not you, it's me.”

“Ah the kiss of death. Come sit with me and tell the old man all the ways it's you, but it's really me.”

“Can I put on clothes first?”

“You could, under heavy protest, put on clothes. Please note my objection.”

“That's not fair," Brienne groused, "you have on clothes.” 

Jaime stripped down to the red boxer briefs as he sat in the armchair nearest the flat screen television, Brienne's face almost matching the Lannister red garment to perfection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lame attempt at shoe horning the bath scene in there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, my muse quit on me.

Brienne's lips still tingled as she tried not to look at Jaime, her toes digging into the carpet to distract herself. She wanted to cover her lips and hold the sensation in for a little longer, her rebelling mind saying she could just climb into Jaime's lap and start all over again.

“I went from unranked to 121, maybe 120. It was the better than I hoped for.”

“Brienne. You're stalling.” Jaime chided as he pulled a throw pillow into his lap, dark eyes still running up and down her bare legs.

She was stalling, but couldn't bring herself to say the words she needed to. It would be too much like self-pity and she had moved beyond that, years ago, had made peace with her life choices and circumstances. Stupidly her mind said she could trust Jaime, that he would understand her hesitation. So she told him of the bet, Ben, Edmund, Hyle, Will and Hugh’s faces and laughter invading her mind as each word stuttered out. Dickon had been the one to tell his father and Dean Tarly had blamed her for the entire thing until her father had threatened legal action. The worst of it was over for them and they moved on to their next joke but she was the one who walked with it every day.

“I hope you've knocked them all in the dust. At least once.” Jaime growled from his chair, his left hand curled into a tight fist.

“All of them,” Brienne acknowledged with a hint of pride, they had all fallen at the academy's senior tournament, she had been the only girl to best the boys. A record still held. “I didn't, don't let people, men close. I know I'm not what anyone wants unless there's a price at the end. I've never been with anyone.”

“My ex-wife is the only woman I've ever been with.” Jaime confessed with a smirk on his face. Enjoying the shock on Brienne's face.

“But you, your,” Brienne started, confused. Her father was an okay looking man, objectively speaking, and had bedded a quarter of Tarth. She'd assumed Jaime would have far more conquests.

“Stupidly loyal, and blinded by love according to my brother. He says that I'm an idiot.”

It was something else that was foreign, her entire life had been one person after another reminding her of how unfortunate or ugly she was. It seemed to be a daily mission of everyone around her, the only loyalty and love had consisted of her father's unyielding and deep love. Brienne doubted Jaime loved her, it was too early, but the obvious proof of his desire for her sat behind a throw pillow.

“I don't know what do.” She admitted, the warmth of her blush settling in her chest.

“You'll need to master the fundamental strokes." Jaime said as he got up from the chair.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell = Wimbledon  
> Braavosi Open = US Open 
> 
> Women's tennis point system is such that you can have the necessary amount of points to be a top seeded player without having won any of the slams ( AUS, French, Wimbledon, US). I've, of course borrowed from that model and plugged in ASOIAF place names over WTA tournaments. It's not meant to be 100% accurate but I did try to make it a fair portrayal.

Pale sun bathed the hard court as Brienne sat in her chair on the sideline, sweat running down her face and back. She had to clear her mind or she was going down in under an hour, the first set was abysmal but the second set was turning into a catastrophe. The deep breathing technique Syrio had taught her was helping to make her clear headed, no thoughts of avenging Renly’s missed chance at being a champion, no thoughts of Jaime. On the court there was room in her head for her game and how to win.

Dacey Mormont was almost as tall as her with the same reach but quick, quicker than Brienne could ever hope to be but Brienne had endurance on her side. She had to play her game and stop getting distracted, she still had Roslin Frey if she was able to drag herself up from a six-one loss. Winning at Winterfell would push her into the top forty and a spot in the Braavos Open would be guaranteed. Another wildcard attempt would be seen as favoritism and there was no way she could keep depending on wild cards. She had no choice but to get in the game and use her endurance to wear her competitor down.

The crowd was on Dacey’s side, this was the North and a girl from Tarth could never hope to sway them away from a girl from Bear Island, but she saw the few fans she had in the stands, the blue flag of Tarth with its crescent moon and sun dotted through the crowd intermittently and Brienne concentrated on the fans who wanted to see her win, she played her heart out for them, made the flight and drive to the stadium, the ticket price and the first set worth it for them. Her dad was somewhere out there, with his old and fuzzy Team Brienne shirt, her first, biggest and always fan.

When it was time to go back on the court, it was with a clear head and determination, her racquet was an extension of her arm. The slight summer chill of the north helped to cool down her tired muscles, stretched from exercise and being wrapped around Jaime’s shoulders. Brienne bent forward, watching Dacey’s powerful serve propel the ball just inside the line, forcing her to run and power it back, her responding shot wide but sharp.

Two hours later Brienne reached across the net to shake her opponent’s hand, her face a blank mask but her insides turning over in happiness. It felt like the best match she'd ever played and the crowd had stayed, almost four hours and not one person had left. If she kept her head clear and played against Roslin Frey the same way, she could win.

In the locker room, her normally silent phone beeped with messages of congratulations from her students, all excited and up too late. It made her smile softly to herself, children were much nicer and more forgiving. They didn't care what she looked like nor did they blame her for Renly’s death.

The cool sheets of her hotel bed welcomed her tired body that night, long after the press conference and photo ops. Thoughts of Jaime could now settle themselves comfortably in her head. Her heart started pumping furiously, the ghost of his searching fingers and lips making her body hum. The finals were the only barrier between Brienne and whatever made up stroke Jaime had to teach her. His inventiveness a counter to her waning reluctance. 


End file.
